


the master loves a mistake

by esnoyuuutsu



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, so in case u couldn't tell it's tojo shiki / kusanagi shizuma, this is actually a mystery play character thing but i didn't want to tag them proper because...why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 05:30:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16738012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esnoyuuutsu/pseuds/esnoyuuutsu
Summary: Until the very end, deceive me with those beautiful lies.





	the master loves a mistake

**Author's Note:**

> i've wanted a shizushiki for a year and a half so bite me i do what i want, enjoy

Shiki was almost insulted. Not that ever-faithful Sagishima had little to no faith in Shiki himself, no, that was just another fact of life he had grown accustomed to while living together.

No, it was the implication that Shiki was being played for a fool like some poor lovestruck sap in a detective novel, dancing in the palm of the true culprit. A dog might have been able to outsmart Shiki, but he still kept the hope he was above such nonsense.

“Now, now, that’s not what I said.” Sagishima spoke with the even, patient tone of a parent calming a petulant child. “I merely ask that you should be more...objective in your investigations, sir. It’s far too early to be discounting any suspects.”

“I have no attachment in this case.”

"Of course.” 

“After all, I was only trying to clear my name, and now I’m seeing it to the end.”

“Absolutely.”

“You—” Shiki frowned, exasperation from Sagishima’s calm faux-reassuring agreement beginning to set in. He made for the door. “I’m going over to speak with Kusanagi-kun again.”

Sagishima stepped in to help Shiki put his jacket on, only to be swatted away. A note of amusement in his voice, he asked, “Would you like me to accompany you?”

“No.” Finally succeeding in his struggle with his jacket, Shiki straightened out his lapels. “I’m not a child, I can go by myself.”

Sagishima smiled, unperturbed. “I am only looking out for you, Master Shiki, as is my responsibility.”

“I’ll be back before dinner.”

“Do take care.” 

* * *

Determined as he was to prove he wasn’t letting his emotions interfere and that he was, in fact, not being deceived, now that Shiki was sitting opposite Shizuma—books strewn across the table, two cups of tea carefully laid in spots where they wouldn’t spill and ruin the papers—he began to doubt himself. 

Kusanagi Shizuma was a man of intellect, of culture—just the right age above Shiki’s to seem worldly and knowledgeable, and yet not so much as to keep them from having common interests; paired with near ethereal features—a white silk curtain of hair over honey-coloured eyes with all the shine of a sharp mind and quick wit, an ever-present wistful smile upon the lips—who was to say that he was not some otherworldly sprite taking Shiki for a plaything?

Perhaps that would be too much to assume, but the fact of the matter was that Shiki had found a friend in Shizuma. A man he could admire, and have tea with while discussing theatre and literature; something he was not quite willing to give up just yet.

“Tojo-kun,” said Shizuma, in his warm crooning whisper of a voice. “Thank you for coming to see me.”

Shiki smiled. “Of course. I do enjoy your company, Kusanagi-kun.”

Pushing back one sleeve to pick up his cup, Shizuma took a sip. Eyelids low and lips still lingering on the edge of the teacup, he smiled back. “I’m happy to hear that.”

“The circumstances in which we met don’t necessarily dictate the outcome,” said Shiki, his thoughts stringing themselves together as they left his tongue. “This isn’t some detective story where I end up looking at you regretful and betrayed, minus a friend.”

There was a soft clatter as Shizuma wordlessly set down his teacup with shaking hands. Shiki’s eyes widened.

“I—I didn’t mean…I wasn’t thinking—”

“No, it’s fine.” His reply little more than a sigh, Shizuma closed his eyes, silver lashes resting on porcelain skin. After a moment, he opened them once more. “You’re right, Tojo-kun. A mystery novel would be far less lonesome—” His breath caught, and Shiki found himself rushing to the older man’s side, his kerchief (not the evidence, surely) in one hand, the other laying itself on Shizuma’s.

“I hate for you to see me in such an unseemly fashion,” Shizuma murmured, taking the proffered handkerchief. “And so soon after we’d met.”

“It’s just...this place has felt so empty since…” He held the handkerchief to his mouth, clutching the cloth with such distress as if doing so would keep himself from weeping altogether. “...since my sister’s...passing. With even Souma-kun saying the house reminds him too much of her, you’ve become my only company—and yet, I can’t help but fear you only do so because you suspect that _I_ was the one who committed the murder, when I...oh, Tojo-kun!”

Unable to hold them back any longer, tears began to slide down Shizuma’s cheeks.

Shiki squeezed his hand tighter, the other stroking Shizuma’s trembling shoulders. “No, no, you mustn’t think that. We’ve only known each other for a short time, yet I feel I may already have a friend in you.”

“I promise, I will find whoever did this to your sister.” Taking back the handkerchief to wipe away Shizuma’s tears himself, Shiki cupped his face in his hands, gently leading Shizuma to look him in the eye. “I simply need for you to trust me.”

Shizuma nodded, relaxing against Shiki’s fingertips.

Staring into his eyes, molten gold yet shining with sorrow, Shiki was struck by a realisation. He had been mistaken, truly mistaken. He’d thought of Shizuma as a friend—as he still was, but things finally began to click into place in Shiki’s mind: all the discussions over afternoon tea, how comfortable and easy it had been for them to grow closer, the feeling he’d gotten the moment Shizuma first looked in his eyes and shook his hand when they met.

He _was_ the lovestruck idiot.

It had taken him some time to understand, but now, so close to Shizuma—feeling the warmth of his face, taking in his gentle floral scent, only inches away—Shiki knew he was quite smitten.

“Oh, you…” Unable to speak with his thoughts aflutter, his voice was but a whisper. “...you do?”

Softly, Shizuma nodded once more, his eyelids lowering as the melancholic smile made its return. “I do.”

At those words, reminiscent of a wedding ceremony, Shiki began—eyes shut, slowly, haltingly, as understanding his feelings came nowhere near accepting them—to close the distance separating him from Shizuma.

Just as they were close enough for Shiki to feel the other’s breath quickening on his lips, he hesitated.

“Kusanagi-kun, I…”

He felt a sigh, light and relieved, and then Shizuma’s lips pressed against his own.

With that, in desperation, they embraced—Shiki tangling his fingers in Shizuma’s silken hair, Shizuma slipping his arms around Shiki’s waist, drawing him closer, closer, their bodies pressed together until he could feel Shizuma’s heart pounding against his chest, the scent of flowers wafting through the air.

It was at that moment—breath heavy, Shizuma murmuring nothing against his mouth, and his warmth setting Shiki aflame—that another thought decided to make itself apparent.

The floral scent filling his head was not only soft and pleasant, but familiar—as if it had once been carried on the wind to meet him, leading him to the man he now held in his arms.

Shiki pulled away (with a noise of disappointment from Shizuma), not daring to look up, afraid that if he did, he would not like the answer to a question he did not yet want to ask.

“...Shiki-san?”

He heard his name, in a hush, breathless, falling from Shizuma’s lips. Steeling himself, he glanced up into _those_ eyes—snowflake lashes fluttering low over a now lightless yellow, threatening to drown him and the truth he so sought, as insects in amber, encased for future generations’ reference and warning.

Shaking his head, Shiki let himself lean in to kiss Shizuma again, and again, the scent of flowers and the sweet taste of regret enveloping him and filling his senses.

Indeed, he was the fool after all.

**Author's Note:**

> me: reads a bunch of mystery novels  
> me: haha what if i write a fic set in mystery with the same tone  
> me: oh no
> 
> and that, kids, is the story of how i discovered i pretty much already write like someone from the 1920s so i guess u can call me yumeno gentarou now (no)


End file.
